


Feathers & Sand

by six1224



Category: One Piece
Genre: Humor, M/M, olivesaretasty is a terrible influence, what even is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 12:41:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5048962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/six1224/pseuds/six1224
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by a very persistent Doflamingo cosplay problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Feathers

Crocodile awoke, groggy and hungover with a headache pounding at his temples. He rolled over with a groan and tried to comprehend what had happened last night.

He opened his eyes ever so slightly, as the sun beating in through his bedroom window looked none too welcoming for his headache. The first thing he saw was a solitary pink feather resting on the pillow beside him and everything came back in a rush.

Doflamingo silhouetted in the firelight, his long tongue stroking the length of Crocodile's hook. Doflamingo pinning him down and grinning broadly. Doflamingo stroking his-

"Oh my god," Crocodile grimaced, propping himself up on his elbows and gazing about the room.

Everything was in turmoil. Blankets cast onto the floor, his finely upholstered ottoman toppled over, there was some sort of unsightly stain on his carpet that he dare not ponder, and- there were feathers everywhere.

"DOFLAMINGO!" he shouted, but there was no answer. The bastard had not only trashed his beautiful bedroom, but he had the nerve to sneak out before Crocodile woke up.

Flickers of memory flashed before him again, this time a little more clear. He had never taken his coat off. Or his god forsaken sunglasses for that matter. But the coat, that damn coat.

He whisked off the blankets and found feathers all over him. Snatching a robe from the hook beside his bed he found feathers in the pockets. He grabbed his hook from the bedside table and several pink plumes fell out carelessly. 

He stomped around the room, finding bits of pink everywhere. All over the fur of his favorite coat, in his fine leather shoes, in the bathroom sink and even in his hair.

He snatched the den den mushi from his desk (feathers in the elegant vase full of fountain pens), and when Doflamingo's smiling face spread across the snail he fumed.

"You bastard," he growled, his fingers digging into his palms.

"Whatever do you mean Wani-kun?" the den den mushi crooned.

"The fucking feathers!" Crocodile shouted.

"Ooooh those. Well you know I had somewhere to go this morning and I thought with how incredibly drunk you were last night, you might not remember me," he said with a chuckle.

Crocodile threw the phone across the room and yelled for a servant to come tidy the room. He stormed off to shower with one goal in mind: revenge.


	2. Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pocket sand!

It had been weeks since Doflamingo had received an angry call from Crocodile about the pile of feathers that he had planted carefully around his spotless apartment.

Doflamingo had assumed that Crocodile had been sulking, as he had not heard from him since. At first it was hilarious, picturing the warlord picking feathers out of his good coats and finding them in all the little places Doflamingo had carefully chosen so that he wouldn't find them until later. Sandwiched in between his paperwork, among the collection of jewelry that he knew Crocodile only wore for special occasions, in his beautiful custom-made umbrella....

But now things were wearing thin, and Doflamingo daydreamed constantly about Crocodile smoothing things over in increasingly ridiculous and debauchery-filled ways.

One afternoon, Doflamingo was sitting on his throne idly plotting something involving a lot of his strings and a riding crop when much to his surprise his den den mushi rang, it's eyebrows furrowing and a little scar stretching across it's face.

He immediately grabbed it, "Wani-kun!" he cried into it's little face.

"Doflamingo," Crocodile responded, his tone serious but civil.

"It's been a while," Doflamingo said, regaining as much composure as he could muster to not seem desperate, the lurid fantasy still languishing in the back of his brain.

"I thought maybe we could do your place this time, to avoid further...incident," Crocodile said curtly. Doflamingo's heart leapt. 

He chuckled lightly, "Certainly," he responded.

A few hours later, Crocodile swept in, a bottle of wine tucked under his arm.

"Doflamingo," he said, barely glancing at him and gliding over to set the bottle gently in the waiting bucket of ice on the coffee table. He sprawled on the couch, awaiting Doflamingo's following.

"About the feathers..." Doflamingo started.

"What about them?" Crocodile asked, drawing a cigar from his case. 

"It was just a little joke. No hard feelings, right?" he asked, perching on the armchair opposite him.

Crocodile lit his cigar and took a long drag. He blew the smoke in Doflamingo's general direction and though it burned his lungs, the smell made his heart beat faster.

"I'm here aren't I?"

The next morning everything was a blur. Doflamingo was sure that he did get to test out that riding crop and at some point he remembered getting Crocodile to say something thoroughly embarrassing, but other than that when his eyes slid open in the early morning light all he could think of was how thoroughly happy he was that all was forgiven. He rolled over in bed to swing an arm over Crocodile and was met with...a pile of sand. 

His eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright. His whole room from the cobblestones to the sconces was entirely full of sand. There were drifts over his sofa, piles on the clothes he cast aside in heated fervor the night before, and he knew without looking that there was probably a mound of the stuff in his sink. He reached for his coat and sand poured gently from his pockets as he slung it around his shoulders.

It was all he could do but to laugh. Later, he would call in Buffalo to blow it all away, but for now he made himself a sand angel, scattering feathers from his coat in the drifts.


End file.
